


Build Me a Heart

by michaely



Series: Ms. Black Eyeliner Chronicles (Victoria) [2]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Drama, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Reunions, Slow Burn, Young Love, chaserich, stephtoria, yay a Warren cameo! (said no one ever)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaely/pseuds/michaely
Summary: After the storm of Arcadia Bay, Victoria Chase seems to reform her attitude, as seen in the brief glimpse of her from LiS 2. But a more compelling query may be how she goes about reforming her heart. For those of you who like to believe she'll take her new outlook on life and find love later (just as I believe it), how does she move on far enough from her traumas and past flaws so that she can then "let her heart win," so to speak? Here's my idea. Let me have a go. A prequel-sequel (you know like how Red Dead Redemption 2 takes place before the events of the first game?) to my Chasemarsh story, "Hopeless, Romantic."Also VOTE on the ship name! Kudos if you like "Chaserich." Comment if you like "Stephtoria."
Relationships: Victoria Chase & Steph Gingrich, Victoria Chase/Steph Gingrich
Series: Ms. Black Eyeliner Chronicles (Victoria) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014729
Comments: 13
Kudos: 15





	1. Be In Love

**Author's Note:**

> Profound thanks must first be given to Veronica_Lake. First, she motivated me to explore further nontraditional pairings in the LiS fandom. She wasn't so interested in reading my Pricefield and Chasemarsh material, so that pushed me to come up with something that would strike her fancy, and here we are. She served as beta reader and put in astounding effort at picking apart and dissecting each aspect of how this tale is coming together. She spared no expense in making sure each story element, every single word laid down could serve its highest purpose. I realize that nontraditional pairings need that extra oomph in order to get you guys to buy in. I can only hope the rest of you can be won over. 
> 
> Additionally, I will pay tribute to Ghost_in_the_Hella for inspiring this particular take on Steph. Ghost puts it best, how Steph plays great as an "eye of the storm" character, grounding those characters around her and establishing a striking sense of realism for the reader.

Victoria wakes with a start. It’s always the same.

Racing heart. Clammy palms. Dry throat. The dampness on her brow causes her blonde bangs to get matted messily across her eyes.

She checks the glowing red digits of her alarm clock. 4:29 AM. Not bad. She had gotten a few hours of sleep before the nightmares set in. The nightmares are always the same too. The pricking of a needle on her neck. The limpness in her limbs. The frantic urge to struggle, to cry out.

Most nights, she couldn’t so much as hope to shut her eyes in the darkness. She found that the only way to settle her mind for those few brief hours is to have another body next to her. But she couldn’t very well proposition someone to come cuddle with her in bed. So she veils this intention behind the pretense of casual sex, which she supposes is something more normal for a woman her age.

She didn’t consider much if she enjoyed it. She knew the movements to make underneath them, where to caress and how hard, which spots to kiss, where to use her tongue and where to use her lips, the little sweet nothings to whisper into their ears. If she brought them to climax quickly, all the sooner she could get to sleep.

She didn’t care much if it was a man or woman. It ended up being mostly men. Trust fund college boys spending daddy’s money, well-groomed executives closing the next big sale, tattooed musicians rolling into town for tonight’s gig.

Victoria shimmies her way out of the sturdy arms of the man lying next to her. Tonight’s “guest” is a gentleman named Rafe. He could be described as Victoria’s “regular,” which just means he’s the only one who’s ever been invited back multiple times. And he rather deserves the distinction too. He’s well-mannered and kind, treats her with an admirable quality of tenderness and even deference.

And yes, he is an older man. She wonders if she does in fact have some kind of compulsive fixation to this type. At the very least she finds solace in the fact that he doesn’t have an overly coiffed hairstyle, nor does he wear hipster glasses that probably didn’t even have prescription lenses in them. She supposes he must’ve had perfect vision, having served as a medevac pilot in the military. He now did consulting work for various medical transportation firms. He occasionally traveled for his job, brought back some Swiss chocolates for her during his last visit.

She swings two slender legs down across the edge of her bed and plants her feet on the Mongolian teak floor. Wrapping her bare body in the silky robe which had been tossed across the arm of the loveseat in her bedroom, she walks over to the kitchen and retrieves a can of Red Bull from the refrigerator.

She steps out onto the balcony of her French Normandy flat in the luxurious Granville building on Sunset Boulevard. She peers out at the streets of West Hollywood, just about to spring to life for the day. She absentmindedly scrolls through her phone, moreso to occupy the other hand that isn’t clutching her energy drink. In her inbox sits a reminder to reply to a message from Bryn Mawr College’s Dean of Admissions. Her deferred admission had been approved, and he wanted to know if she would be joining them for the winter semester. In all honesty, she hadn’t even remembered making the application for the school. It’s funny how matters which had at one point seemed life or death affairs suddenly lost all their urgency once she had been confronted with a situation wherein her life hung legitimately in the balance.

The door to the balcony slides open behind her. Another one of Rafe’s merits is that he’s a fellow early riser. She didn’t have to wait all morning for him to leave. He leans on the railing beside her and as usual tries to place his lips to hers. She’s convinced the only reason he continues to try is that she’s been adamant about not kissing afterward. She turns away from him, and he simply laughs to himself in bemusement.

He returns to the interior of the condo and puts on a freshly starched dress shirt he had packed in his duffel bag. He always went straight to the office the mornings after.

Victoria’s attention is wrested away by the familiar chirping of the notification sound on her phone. A new friend request has arrived in her social media feed.

Her thumb hovers over the Accept key.

* * *

Things would’ve been way different had she just taken a cab. She was in Oxnard for the day, viewing an exhibition by Vietnamese photographer An-My Le at the Carnegie Art Museum.

Her date for the evening just happened to be a soccer player for UC Santa Barbara. Thierry Marceau had scouts salivating over him since adolescence, and Paris Saint-Germain wasted no time in scooping him up for their junior club. Just as he was on the cusp of his professional debut, he fractured his tibia and fibula in a freak skiing accident while on vacation in the Swiss Alps. The team found him in violation of contract terms prohibiting such risky physical activities and released him. He had come to America to rehab his injury and play collegiate ball in a bid to regain relevance in the sport.

Victoria’s Mercedes was in the shop for maintenance, and, again, she could’ve very well just called for an Uber. But since Thierry was already nearby, she decided she’d rather have a ride in his Tesla Model S.

He didn’t turn out to be the conceited jock that she had grown accustomed to seeing. He may have been handled with velvet gloves ever since the time he had laced on some cleats, but he recognizes he’s in a new reality now. He proved to be quite humble, a bit anxious over the possibility that his achievements may have peaked as a teenager and understanding this could be his last chance to avoid washing out of the big leagues. He addressed her with gentility, making pleasant chitchat about his travels through Europe while attending various athletics academies. He confessed to feeling nervous about being with an American girl but revealed he badly needed a break from the pressure of his profession. Victoria could relate, no stranger herself to expectations being placed on her at a young age.

They make it about halfway through their trip before stopping in Reseda. Thierry pulls into the parking lot of a nondescript 1940’s style diner, seemingly one of Edward Hopper’s early sketches come to life. Its stainless steel siding had been occluded by persistent exposure to LA’s notorious smog problem. The sign hanging above the entrance reads “John’s.”

“Sorry for the delay,” Thierry offers. “Dying for a piss.”

Victoria could only hope that was the nerves talking again.

Another crucial turning point in her tale: she could’ve just waited in the car. Then again, she didn’t feel entirely safe sitting alone in a high-end sports car in the sketchy part of town, so she follows him into the restaurant.

The interior features jade green tile flooring. The walls are painted a hue resembling dull yellow ochre. The countertop is cherrywood, as are the stools lining the perimeter of the fixture. The clientele is a hodgepodge of blue-collar types, auto mechanics, construction workers, repairmen. Among the flannel shirts and faded blue jeans stained with grease and grime, Victoria feels out of place in her dry clean only cardigan and miniskirt.

Aside from the customers, there stands a lone waitress, a petite girl with auburn hair and blue eyes. She wears the iconic diner waitress uniform: a light gingham dress (in this case, a bright shade of sunflower yellow), white trim around the short sleeves, white apron around her waist, and white collar around the neckline. The skirt of the dress is short enough to allow for quick mobility, and Victoria had to appreciate the view that was afforded of the girl’s slim, shapely legs.

One solitary element that definitely is not keeping with the aesthete, however, is the white beanie with a yellow and orange flame sewn to the side.

As Victoria and Thierry walk through the entrance, the waitress greets them with a warm sense of hospitality that doesn’t intrude into phoniness. “Welcome to John’s. What can I get you?”

“Just need to use the restroom,” Thierry states.

From out the opening in the wall which leads into the kitchen, a crusty old man (presumed to be the cook) pokes out his face, pockmarked and resembling a weathered hunk of granite. “Paying customers only, Frenchie,” the man speaks in a Brooklyn accent caked with the rasp of a two-packs-a-day habit. He stares back at Thierry with droopy eyes that have nevertheless lost none of their intensity.

“ _C’est bon_ ,” Thierry replies apologetically. He retrieves a calfskin wallet from the back pocket of his chinos and produces a crisp ten dollar bill, which he places on the counter. “Anything’s fine. Coffee, I guess.”

The waitress takes the money and deposits it into the register. “Around the corner to the left,” she says, signaling in the direction of the facilities.

Thierry nods and makes his way to where the waitress had pointed.

Victoria tries her best to offer a warm smile of typical cordiality.

The waitress launches in with something unexpected. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but you seem to have upgraded your taste in men. Good on you.”

Victoria can’t help but jump back a bit. “Excuse me? Do...” Victoria stares at her quizzically. “Do I know you?”

“Oh!” Now it’s the waitress’s turn to recoil slightly. “I guess you don’t. Anymore.” She laughs in unease. “Blackwell Academy?” she posits. “Around 2010?”

Victoria wracks her memory to its limit searching for a familiar face that she can correlate to the one standing before her. “I really do apologize. I just don’t recall any classmate named...” she tries reading the waitress’s nametag. “‘Kyle’?”

The waitress giggles. “I forgot my regular nametag at home, just borrowed this from a coworker,” she explains. “It’s Steph, actually. Gingrich.”

The realization finally does hit Victoria. “Right! We were in drama club together.”

“The Tempest,” Steph affirms. “That’s it.”

“Shit,” Victoria buries her face in her palm. “Always been bad with faces. And names.”

“No, don’t worry. ‘Kyle’ is a lot better than what you called me when we first met.”

“Is that so?” Victoria asks with trepidation.

“It was before Mrs. Hoida’s Lit class,” Steph recalls. “You were fixing your makeup, and I believe you addressed me as ‘Bitch, get away from the window. You’re blocking my good light.’”

Victoria grimaces. “Yes, that does sadly sound quite right.”

“Evidently nobody blocking your light today, though,” Steph remarks. “You still look amazing.”

Victoria felt a surge of hotness rising in her cheeks. “Where, uh,” She’s feeling a bit too warm under the spotlight now, “I mean, I don’t remember seeing you around after that year. Did you transfer or something?”

“My grandma lives in town. She got sick, so my family moved here to help out.”

“That’s how you avoided the storm?”

“Mmhmm.” Steph’s tone turns a bit more serious now. “I heard about your parents, though. I’m really sorry for your loss.”

Victoria shuffles her feet, swallows the lump in her throat. “Thanks.” She was never sure how to handle condolences. Certainly, the other person only ever had the intention of showing sympathy for the severity of her loss, but by acknowledging the loss, that only served to refresh the pain for her once more. Victoria wonders if it’s tougher to be the one who suffers or the one who must comfort.

“I had some friends left there too,” Steph continues. “I’m sure you’ve had no shortage of invitations to talk about it, and maybe you’re annoyed at all of it by now. I’m not sure where you are in the grieving process.” She tugs at the fringe of her beanie to adjust it more snugly to her head. “I guess I just want you to remember you’re not alone in any of this.”

Victoria stares back at Steph, blinks a few times. Victoria was never used to heartfelt exhortations, never gave them nor sought them out.

“Ready to go?” Thierry calls out, shaking Victoria out of her contemplation.

Victoria gives him a brief nod.

“You still want your coffee?” Steph says to him, holding up a carafe and about to pour some into a paper cup.

“No caffeine 48 hours before a match,” Thierry explains, “Jangles my nerves.”

Steph mutters teasingly under her breath, “A real mandy man, ain’t ya?”

A subtle fit of laughter escapes from Victoria as well. She exits the restaurant, exchanging amused smirks with Steph on the way out.

* * *

Victoria sets out the orders of steamed mussels, braised pork belly, and broccoli rabe that had been delivered from Eveleigh. The roasted eggplant, however, she stashed away in her refrigerator, being sure to save that just for herself later. It’s “date night” (for lack of better phraseology) with Rafe again. He usually had the courtesy to arrange for some food on such occasions. She always insisted it wasn’t necessary, that their relationship wasn’t one that entailed dining together. He always insisted even harder.

Her phone begins to buzz, showing Rafe’s number on the caller ID.

“Hello?” she answers.

“Hey, beautiful,” he calls out in his usual treacly sweet tone. “Got some bad news, my wife got home early from her conference, so I gotta skip tonight.”

Victoria shakes her head a few times, letting the one key word rattle around inside her mind, just to make sure she had heard correctly. Did he just say “wife”?

“You...” She sweeps a few blonde bangs away from her face. “You’re married?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess it never came up, huh?” He could be heard giving a quick laugh. His flippancy isn’t something Victoria appreciates.

“Don’t you think it SHOULD have come up at some point?”

“Well,” he stammers a bit, the first time Victoria’s ever noticed him losing even the slightest bit of composure. “It’s not like I was hiding it from you.”

“You don’t wear a wedding band.”

“I take it off around you. I just feel it’d be a bit disrespectful. To both you and her.”

“How chivalrous of you,” she sarcastically spits back.

“Victoria, I don’t quite understand what difference it makes. You and I, we’re...” From the other line, the man sighs hugely. “Let me ask you this: Am I the only one?”

In that instance, all the resentment she was directing at him suddenly careens back toward herself. It’s not like she had a vetting process for the people she was seeing. She’s finally made to wonder just how many other marriages she’s interfering with.

“I’m truly very sorry,” he finally speaks up. “I’ll call you later. Enjoy your dinner.”

Victoria stomps over to her couch and snatches one of the throw pillows. She smothers her face with it and screams into the cushioning. That bit of catharsis having not been sufficient, she defiantly dumps each and every dish of food into her trash. Yes, even the roasted eggplant.

She has to admit, she’s not in the best space right now. Her life has devolved into some cliché from a made-for-Lifetime-Channel movie, she was probably facing another sleepless night, and now there was no food for dinner.

The first two issues, she can’t do much about immediately, but she has an inkling of an idea how to address that last one.

* * *

Victoria pushes open the front door to John’s but is surprised to find it empty of customers. Steph is wiping the counter with a rag while the surly cook is counting money from the register.

“Victoria! Hey!” Steph greets her with the same joviality as before. “Fancy seeing you back.”

“Had a strange hankering for some diner fare tonight,” Victoria responds, instantly taking to Steph’s warmth.

“Ah, I do appreciate the visit, but we’re closing early tonight.”

“Oh, really?” Victoria purses her lips in disappointment.

“Sully here has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning.” Steph pats the cook across his broad back. “Colonoscopy. Getting the premier treatment, camera up the ass and everything.”

“Ain’t the camera that worries me,” Sully comments dryly. He removes the last few coins of change from the register and slams the tray shut. “It’s the crew.”

Victoria isn’t sure if that was supposed to be a joke, considering Sully’s face hadn’t fluctuated in expression at all. But Steph chuckles, so Victoria tries to follow suit.

“Well, you know,” Steph addresses Sully, “It wouldn’t be any trouble at all for me to throw a burger on the griddle for Victoria. Why don’t I close up tonight? You can head home early and catch the last bit of Letterman with Darlene.”

Sully shrugs his hulking shoulders noncommittally. “Peachy.” He hands over the keys to Steph and goes to retrieve his windbreaker jacket hanging on a hook mounted to the kitchen wall.

“Thanks again for your understanding,” Victoria says to him.

He merely gives a brief grunt in acknowledgement.

Steph throws a wink in Victoria’s direction. Victoria bashfully wipes away some of the bangs away from her face.

“Make yourself at home,” Steph beckons. “Although I imagine this is quite different from Bel Air.”

Victoria laughs quietly as she approaches the counter. “I live on Sunset, actually.”

“Whoa, hard to believe you’ve descended from on high to join us mere mortals.”

Victoria laughs again, louder, freer this time. “I’m not too stuck up to enjoy a good burger.” She takes a seat on a stool. “You ARE a good cook, right?”

“It’s been, let’s see...” Steph taps her chin with her finger, “10 days since my last salmonella incident.”

“I trust you then.”

Steph steps past the swinging door and into the kitchen. She can be seen removing a beef patty wrapped in plastic from the refrigerator. She tosses the meat on the griddle, which immediately starts to sizzle.

Victoria surveys the surroundings a bit more and notices an old-timey jukebox sitting in the corner. “Does that thing work?”

Steph pokes her head out. “Occasionally. It needs the Fonz treatment sometimes.” Steph balls one hand into a fist and smacks it into the nearby wall to demonstrate what she means.

Victoria hops down from her seat and walks over to the machine. As Steph had shown her, Victoria uses her fist to give a firm whack on the side of the device. Surely enough, the lights flicker on, and it comes humming to life.

“Very nice!” Steph exclaims. “You got the touch tonight. Here.” She tosses a quarter over to Victoria. “Go on, pick a song.”

Victoria slips the coin into the slot. She flips through the catalogue and makes what she thinks is a fitting choice.

Joey Zehr’s drum solo first comes rumbling in, then the rest of the instruments join in earnest.

Steph’s face lights up even before Kyle Patrick starts singing. Victoria relishes the sight of Steph’s comely hips swaying ever so gracefully to the beat.

_“It’s like that magic,_

_And when you have it,”_

Steph hums along as she tears off a few leaves from a head of lettuce.

_“It blows your mind._

_You’re feeling all right.”_

She takes out some tomato slices from the fridge.

_“You’ve read a chapter_

_With ever after,”_

She uses a spatula to flip the hamburger to cook on its other side. Victoria’s delightfully touched at the level of care Steph is exhibiting in each step of such a mundane procedure, simply putting together a burger.

_“And so you say_

_That’s what it takes to”_

She starts to sing aloud, using the spatula as a pretend microphone. Victoria is instantly struck by the clarity and melodic allure of Steph’s voice.

_“Be in love.”_

She tosses a whisk to Victoria, who, despite her surprise, manages to catch it.

_“I could get used to this.”_

Steph continues to sing, now staring Victoria right in her eyes.

_“Be in love.”_

Victoria finds Steph’s enthusiasm to be irresistibly contagious. She can’t help but join in the performance. At this point, Victoria feels like she’d want to join Steph in just about anything.

_“Build me a heart._

_I’ll put you in it.”_

Victoria scoots herself up to sit on the counter. In a bout of showmanship that would make even the finest Rockette blush, she kicks one leg up into the air and with a flourish crosses it over the other.

_“‘Cause everybody, everybody wants to be in love._

_Be in love.”_

Not to be outdone, Steph also runs to the counter, and using a nearby crate of onions as a boost, climbs up to plant her two black and white Chuck Taylor All Stars atop the surface. Victoria gives a spirited cheer and follows with a round of applause.

_“‘Cause everybody, everybody wants to be in love._

_Be in love.”_

Without warning, Steph seizes Victoria by the wrist and pulls her up so they’re both standing on their makeshift stage. They belt out the remainder of the jaunty tune, both of them left guffawing in joy like giddy schoolgirls by the song’s conclusion. Well, maybe not exactly as they had been back when they were in school. Both of them had their own share of struggles at that time, even at such a young age. During this moment together, maybe it’s more accurate to say they are living the perfectly idealized conception of the schoolgirl existence: carefree and inhabiting only this one instance of puerile bliss.

The hamburger sadly got burned, though.

* * *

Victoria had been spending the evening lounging around her condo in her white cotton boyshorts and oversized T-shirt with the Union Jack design. That Click Five song has been looping through her stereo for hours. With her body splayed out across her velvet sofa, she could almost feel a sense of tranquility settling into her limbs. Her eyelids start to get almost unbearably heavy. Until...

Knock-knock-knock comes resounding on her front door. She opens it to find Rafe. He’s holding a bottle of Armand de Brignac, but actually presents it quite humbly, as if he were a little boy about to give the Valentine’s Day card he made in arts and crafts class to his first crush.

She wordlessly steps aside, his signal to come in. She pulls out two champagne flutes from her cabinet while he pops the cork. He pours out two equal shares of the bubbly liquid. They take their beverages out to the balcony.

“What are we drinking to?” she queries.

“To a beautiful night. And a beautiful girl,” he says with that same sneaky grin. “What else do you need?”

She takes a sip of her drink, then runs her index finger around the rim of the glass. “Where’s your wife?”

“Spin class. Personally, I never understood the point. Why do all the work to pedal a bike if you’re not going anywhere?”

Right, Victoria pondered to herself, what’s the point--to anything--if you’re not going anywhere?

She huffs a heavy sigh. “What is so wrong with you guys?”

He tilts his head inquisitively. “How do you mean?”

“What’s your problem with her? She nags you too much about leaving the toilet seat up? Doesn’t blow you enough?”

“Well, it can’t be that last one because you’ve already said you don’t--”

“Can you be serious for once?”

“I mean, if you’ve changed your mind--”

“Rafe!”

He snickers as he takes his next sip. “All right, let’s put it this way. Humans are imperfect, incomplete.”

“No objection to that.”

“Then it stands to reason if you’re gonna be with just one person, you’ll only ever get part of what you want. For argument’s sake, let’s say it’s 80 percent. Now, I do love my wife. She gives me a solid 80 percent.”

“Wow, did you include that one in your wedding vows?” is her snide reply.

“But,” he goes on, “If I’m always stuck at 80 percent, I’m gonna start to resent her. I’ll wonder why I can’t have just that extra 20 percent. So maybe that number starts to go down. Like, maybe I start to feel I’m only getting 70 percent. Or 60. That figure gets too low, it’s probably not worth it anymore.”

“But you just said it’s impossible for anyone to give you everything,” she objects. “That’s not fair.”

“Nothing in life is,” He states gravely. “I’ve landed in dozens of hot zones in that hellhole in Afghanistan. I’ve spent God knows how long wondering why it was this Humvee and not the other that ran over the IED, why Jimmy took ten rounds to the chest but Billy gets out with just a scraped knee. The only answer that made sense was that ‘fair’ has nothing to do with it.”

She leans her elbows against the railing, draws in a deep breath of the brisk evening air. “I think you’re wrong,” she states defiantly. “I think the right person can be the only reason you need. To feel better. Be better. Do better.” She turns to face him and gazes unflinchingly into his eyes. “That’s what love should be.”

“Well...” He casts his glance off into the distance, toward the lights of the LA skyline twinkling relentlessly. “I’m not saying it doesn’t exist. Maybe I’m just too old to be looking for it.” He fixes his stare on her now. “Is that what you want?”

She can’t answer right away. What DOES she want? What does she _deserve_?

“Tell you what,” he takes the initiative to crack the silence, “You take some time to figure that out.” He places a gentle hand on her shoulder. She’s actually a little startled. It’s the first time he’s touched her without any kind of sexual overtone. She doesn’t hate it. It’s comforting enough.

With a knowing nod, he slides open the glass door to the balcony. She watches him take up his blazer which had been hanging across the back of one of the dining chairs. He doesn’t look back at her as he pulls open the front door and steps out into the hallway.


	2. Good As Gold

This is crazy, Victoria thinks to herself. She had never been the type to pursue anyone. Not her friends for making plans. Not her family for checking in to see how they’re doing.

If you expressed an interest in being around her, she’ll make her own evaluation of whether you’re worth her time. If you didn’t express an interest, she’ll just find a way to cope without you. Nope, she had never pursued anyone. Who exactly was actually worth it for her to pursue anyway?

And yet, she finds herself feeling more and more antsy with every passing moment that the message thread marked “Steph” remains bare. Victoria is itching with curiosity on any number of topics. Did Steph have as much fun as she did? Would she want to do it again sometime? If they were to hang out again, what else would she like to do?

Wait, Victoria thinks to herself further, when did all of this start to matter?

“Fuck it.” With a resounding sigh, Victoria gets to tapping on her screen.

Not a bad way to start, she supposes, but how about something a little more personalized?

As is becoming custom, Steph’s enthusiasm, even just over text, catches on with Victoria almost instantly.

And somehow Steph’s emoji habit didn’t make Victoria want to gouge out her own eyes.

Victoria laughs aloud at that. Although, she’ll admit she’d much rather see Steph topless than Sully.

But enough beating around the bush, Victoria decides. She did reach out with a specific goal in mind.

Victoria tries not to take this as rejection. It is pretty short notice, after all. But she’ll use this opportunity to get some more information.

Victoria feels a little grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Victoria first thinks this just a simple act of courtesy, but is taken aback by Steph’s immediate next message.

* * *

Steph and Victoria stand outside the entrance to The Mint, a nearly century-old music venue on LA’s West Pico Boulevard. A tall mural of German writer Charles Bukowski stares down at them.

Victoria reads from the marquee advertising the featured act for tonight, “Boyfriend in a Coma.”

“Yeah,” Steph remarks with a roll of her eyes, “He’s always had a thing for terrible puns.”

The two walk through the narrow front door. Only a few paces before them (it is a rather intimately spaced area, after all) is the stage. On said stage is the aficionado of dad jokes himself, Warren Graham.

Victoria had guessed his stage name was in reference to how the National Guard had found him amongst the rubble of Two Whales Diner. They were ready to declare him dead at the scene. No chance in hell someone could survive that. They’d thrown a tarp over his presumed lifeless body and everything. Victoria remembered seeing the GoFundMe campaign to help the family pay for his hospital stay while he was in the aforementioned coma. She donated the entirety of the sum herself, although making sure to keep the contribution anonymous, lest anyone accuse her of typical Chase-style grandstanding.

Still in the middle of sound check, Warren is plucking out a few notes from the Fender across his lap. Victoria also recalls that Warren preferred standing when he played guitar (always some wispy acoustic folk music she never could appreciate), how he claimed he had too much nervous energy in his legs to sit still. Now, however, that isn’t an option.

“Hey, guys!” Warren calls out in delight. He sets the guitar beside him and rolls his wheelchair across the stage, down the ramp back to ground level. He pops a wheelie on the way down. “Never get tired of that,” he comments with a broad smile.

Victoria must confess, she used to find Warren’s cheerful do-gooder routine to be pretty tiresome, but now she has to wonder if the world would be better off with more people like him, fewer people like herself.

“So glad you could make it,” he addresses them in earnest. “Steph, you’re doing me a huge favor.”

“Don’t you forget it,” Steph commands. “And the drinks are comped tonight, right?”

“I told you,” Warren replies, exasperated, “Sodas only.”

Steph scoffs. “Can’t believe I came all this way for a few rounds of Mr. Pibb. I’m saving your show here!”

“If you do a good job, I can swing you an order of buffalo wings,” Warren proposes.

Steph purses her lips and squints. “Throw in some nachos, and we’re in business.”

“You got it.” Warren holds out his fist, and Steph bumps it with her own. “They’re gonna want a sound check for your vocals.”

“Gotcha,” Steph affirms. She turns to Victoria. “Just a sec.”

Victoria flashes Steph an encouraging smile. As Steph makes her way up to the stage, Victoria notices a feisty pep in her step. Despite Steph’s feigned reluctance, Victoria concludes it must mean a lot for her to have the chance to perform music for a crowd, even a tiny one. Victoria remembers quite clearly how giddy Steph had been just to sing to an audience of one back at John’s.

“It’s good to see you again,” Warren says, breaking Victoria out of her trance. “Sorry I didn’t look you up sooner.”

“Oh, no it’s fine,” Victoria reassures. “It looks like you’ve been busy making a name for yourself.”

“Stella and Daniel were always talking about coming out here after graduation, try to get a few gigs, see how big we could make it.” He gives a few somber nods. “I figure I owe it to them, since I have the chance.”

She reaches down, puts her hand on his shoulder. “They’d be really proud of you.”

He looks back at her in sincere gratitude. “Thanks.” He points to the bar at the back of the room. “Want a drink?”

“Sure.”

The two of them head to the bar, she placing an order for a ginger ale and he for an orange soda.

While waiting for the barkeep to pour out the beverages from the fountain, he notices her eyes wandering. “I’m not offended if you stare, you know.”

She regards him quizzically. “Huh?”

“It’s just a wheelchair, after all. Not some third ear growing out the middle of my forehead.” He gives her a sly smirk.

She can’t help but laugh. Leave it to Warren to make light of things.

“Are you doing PT or something?” she asks.

“I’m trying, but the doctors are still saying there isn’t a very good chance,” he explains.

Victoria feels a pang of guilt gnawing at her chest. Her own troubles seem dreadfully self-indulgent compared to someone who’s lost his ability to perform a basic human function.

“Then again,” he goes on, “They said there wasn’t a good chance I wake up from the coma. There wasn’t a good chance I eat without a feeding tube. Not a good chance I play guitar again.” By now the beverages had been served, and Warren takes a sip from his lowball glass of Fanta. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always be a man of science, but maybe not all of life can be summed up so neatly like that. Sometimes life is...” He scratches the back of his head, hoping the right word might fall out of there with some prodding.

“Unpredictable?” she offers.

“Good enough.”

She smiles back at him as she drinks some of her Canada Dry.

“So, you and Steph are...” he motions to Steph, now running through a few bars of “My Favorite Things” as her sound check continues.

“Oh!” Victoria finds it ironic they were just talking about things that can’t be so neatly summed up. “We...” She giggles in bemusement. “We’re just hanging out. Met up again pretty randomly and just happened to start spending some time together.”

“Very cool. She’s great, has been ever since I met her at school. I was really bummed when she moved away.”

Victoria feels a little bit of envy towards him. He had the chance to get to know her enough in order to miss her. Back then, Steph hadn’t even registered on Victoria’s radar. Victoria wonders what else she had been depriving herself of due to her own foolish and narrow mind.

“How about you?” Victoria posits. “You dating anyone?”

“Me?” He chuckles in that same dopey way that Victoria hadn’t forgotten. “Nah. Stephen Hawking is the only cripple who’s ever gotten mad pussy.”

Victoria almost spits out that last gulp of ginger ale. She manages to keep the liquid down but breaks into a fit of laughter as she reaches for a napkin to wipe her mouth.

“To be honest,” he speaks a little more frankly now, “There is someone. In California. It’s kinda the other reason I came out here. To look for her.” He laughs to himself, shakes his head. “No idea what the fuck to do if I find her, but here I am still looking.”

“Ooh, intriguing.”

“Hopelessly complicated is what it is.”

“All the great love stories are.”

“Yeah, I’ll get Nicholas Sparks to write the foreword to my memoir,” he replies snidely.

A stagehand approaches the pair. “Warren, we still gotta arrange for the lighting.”

“Got it.” Warren nods. “Be right there.” He turns back to Victoria. “I better get back to it.”

“Good luck tonight.” She winks at him. “Break a leg.”

“Wouldn’t feel a thing, would I?” He puts on a self-satisfied grin as Victoria is made to laugh again.

Over the next 20 minutes or so, patrons started filing into the club and taking their seats at the scattered tables and booths. It doesn’t take long to fill up. After all, it’s a fairly small space. The lights to the stage illuminate fully, and the MC calls the audience to attention.

Warren approaches the microphone to give a short address. “Hi everyone, I’m so glad to be performing for you all. I’m known as Boyfriend in a Coma, but my friends call me Warren. Which is why none of you can call me Warren.”

The jape elicits some light laughter from the crowd.

“Tonight, I wanted to start with a special song, a duet. Schuyler Fisk herself was supposed to perform with me, but last minute she said she had strep throat. I don’t know what sympathy she’s expecting from me. I’m still here, and I had a building fall on top of me.”

Even more vigorous laughs from the audience this time. Victoria wonders if he’s always been this funny.

“But I have someone who I think you’ll also enjoy. Her name is Steph Gingrich, a friend of mine from way back, and a hell of a vocalist to boot. Please make her feel welcome. Steph, anything you want to add?”

Steph leans toward her own microphone. “Yeah, I’m new here, so no making fun of me, OK?”

The attendees offer a hearty round of applause in an effort to spur her confidence. Once the ambience settles again, Warren places his guitar to his lap and plucks out the opening strains of the song. While he is supposed to be the showcase attraction, Victoria’s glance inevitably gets glued onto Steph. The brunette seems to be falling into a silent revelry as she sways her head to the gentle rhythm.

_“Been up all night, staring at you,_

_Wondering what’s on your mind.”_

In contrast to her last performance, Steph sings out this time with a subdued tranquility more fitting with the tone of this particular song. This, however, doesn’t belie the conviction in the sentiment behind her words.

_“I’ve been this way with so many before,_

_But this feels like the first time.”_

With this last admission, Steph seems to be presenting all her vulnerabilities, unapologetic and unafraid, with boundless hope that those before her can accept her for who she is.

_“You want the sunrise to go back to bed._

_I wanna make you laugh.”_

Warren joins in with some backing vocals this time, but Victoria finds herself tuning out not just him but the sights and sounds of everyone besides Steph.

_“Mess up my bed with me.”_

To Victoria, it completely sounds as if Steph is singing only to her, beckoning just her into bed. Most likely it’s wishful thinking, Victoria admits. Steph didn’t write these lyrics, and she’s performing for a group of people, after all. But the way Steph offers it up so deliberately, channels so much of her own will into the message, it causes anything and everything else, anyone and everyone else to simply fall away from consideration. At this time, there seems to be just Steph and Victoria, one person delivering a striking message and another to receive it. And how wonderful a prospect that sounds, to be messing up Steph’s bed.

_“Kick off the covers. I’m waiting...”_

* * *

“Heat? Bad Boys 2? Point Break?” Steph proposes.

Victoria shakes her head apologetically. “Sorry.”

Steph’s eyes pop open in disbelief. “You’ve never seen Point Break?”

“Believe it or not, that one didn’t come up too often in the Film Studies course.”

“Oh come on! You can have your Citizen Kane or Gone with the Wind or Apocalypse Now, and I guarantee none of them will make you feel as good as fast as Keanu Reeves firing his P226 up in the air while going, ‘AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!’”

As she unleashes that primal scream, Steph also mimes shooting a gun up into the air, just as Johnny Utah had done in that climactic chase scene with Bodhi. Victoria chortles in thorough amusement. The rest of the club patrons cast a few wary eyes over at Steph.

Warren, who had been in the middle of explaining his inspiration for the next song, tries to brush off the distraction. “Don’t look at me, I told them not to serve her any alcohol.”

Lighthearted laughter breaks out among the fans now.

“Sorry!” Steph calls out.

She lets her smile linger just a moment longer as she turns back to Victoria, whose breath catches in her throat.

Victoria coughs a few times to clear up the blockage, takes another sip of water. “What do you reckon,” she finally speaks up, “These are just about...” She holds up one of the buffalo wings.

“The worst wings in town?” Steph finishes with a grimace.

The two take a moment to laugh together, somehow not minding too much their bland and overcooked dinner.

“The company makes it all right, though,” Victoria states. Her vivid green eyes cast an appreciative glance at Steph. “I’m having a really great time.”

It may just be a trick of the lighting, but Victoria thinks she can almost make out a little bit of blush rising in Steph’s cheeks.

“You wanna get out of here?” Steph offers. “Get ourselves a few real drinks?”

“Sure.” Victoria tries not to leap out of her seat in excitement. “Where at?”

“My roommate usually has some booze lying around. Doubt he’d mind if we swiped some.”

Victoria bites her lip in anticipation, gives a quick nod. She and Steph scoot their way out of the booth. On their way out, they wave goodbye to Warren, who’s carrying on with his next number.

_“Now I’m reaching out an empty hand,_

_Hold it there until it’s full.”_

* * *

Following Steph’s tangerine orange Pontiac Firebird, Victoria pulls her Mercedes into the parking lot of Reseda Heights, an apartment complex which time (as well as whoever’s in charge of landscaping) has clearly forgotten. The building’s façade is caked with grime and discolored from way too much car exhaust blowing near its vicinity. Some sad palm trees struggle to brighten up the atmosphere. Steph leads the way to the front entrance of unit 109. Victoria initially thought it was 106, but Steph explained that the 9 had actually fallen upside down and the repairman never came to nail it back into place.

Pushing open the door, Victoria sees the interior which could only be described as thrift store chic. Every piece of furniture is mismatched, evidently purchased on the basis of fitting a budget rather than fitting a unified theme of décor. Everything has some knick or knack, some flaw or scratch. What’s also striking is the prevalence of moving boxes scattered about.

“When did you move in?” Victoria inquires.

“Oh...” Steph walks over to the refrigerator and grabs two bottles of Coors Banquets. “About 10 months ago?”

Victoria laughs silently. “You guys ever thought about getting a plant? Just to liven things up a bit?”

“I had a cactus when I was 8. It died, and then I got really depressed because I realized I was less nurturing than a desert.”

Victoria laughs aloud this time as she takes the opened beer from Steph and bumps bottles with her.

Just then, the front door swings open and in steps a lanky, pale man with shoulder length jet black hair and a droopy facial expression which is fighting a losing battle against gravity. His deadened eyes suggest that joie de vivre is a luxury he had given up on long ago.

“Hey Ryan,” Steph calls out to him. He gives a light grunt in acknowledgement. “This is the friend I was telling you about. Victoria, this is my roommate Ryan.”

“How do you do?” Victoria greets him.

“Oh, you know how it is,” he responds in despondency, “It’s every artist’s dream to spend 20 grand studying for an MFA only to end up teaching wine and painting classes for 15 bucks an hour.”

“Tough day at the office?” Steph tries to give him some sympathy.

The man sighs hugely. “If I have to walk one more group of cackling menopausal housewives through another watercolor of sunflowers, I’m gonna make like Van Gogh.”

“OK.” Steph walks up to him and leads him by the arm. “I think you oughtta go lie down, get some of that tea tree oil going in your diffuser, and turn on your white noise machine.”

“And I don’t mean I cut off my ear,” he clarifies. “I’m talking shoot myself in the chest!” With that, he slams shut the door to his bedroom.

“Is he gonna be all right?” Victoria asks Steph.

“Don’t worry, he’s got a day job writing greeting cards. That always cheers him up.”

“Certainly hope so.”

Steph makes her way to the particleboard bookshelf in which her DVD collection is stored. “Let’s not forget why we’re truly here: your education in fine cinema.” She picks out a few choice selections and holds them up before Victoria. “What do you think? Lethal Weapon? Or Showdown in Little Tokyo?”

“Which one do you think I’d like better?”

“No, I’m asking which one you wanna watch first.”

Victoria takes a moment to just sit there, agape. “Hmm...” She reads from the cover of the latter DVD. “‘Two L.A. cops going after a gang of Japanese drug lords. Feet first.’ Well, how could you resist that sales pitch?”

“Good choice.” Steph turns around and inserts the disc into the tray of her Blu-ray player. She settles down on the blue suede couch beside Victoria. It’s not a particularly spacious seating arrangement, so the girls naturally get a little squished together. Not that Victoria minds much. Steph leans back to assume the most relaxed position, and Victoria tries to follow suit.

If she were being frank, Victoria found the cushioning to be very lumpy and way too firm. And the overall fabric could use a strong steam cleaning. But having Steph next to her suddenly made it a cozy and soothing space. All the tightness and tension that had been afflicting her gradually start seeping away. Usually her brain had all matter of neuroses and worries to process, but for now those thoughts begin being neatly compartmentalized and filed away. For now, she’s allowed to focus solely on the spectacle of Dolph Lundgren swinging into action from the rafters of a seedy underground fight club.

“Tanaka.” The Swedish actor’s smooth baritone line delivery starts lulling Victoria into drowsiness. “Haven’t I told you this is illegal and it pisses me off?”

* * *

Victoria wakes with a start.

But it’s not the nightmares this time. The din of a blender going off in the kitchen is what does it. She sits up from the blue suede couch with a ketchup stain on the right armrest and sees Ryan mixing together some concoction the shade of grape Kool Aid.

“Sorry for the noise!” he calls out above the ruckus.

The light pouring in from the windows causes Victoria to squint.

Wait.

It’s daytime?

Steph starts to stir as well. “Oh hey,” she speaks groggily, blinks a few times, as her contacts seem to be bothering her. “Geez, we are some lightweights, aren’t we?” she jokes.

Ryan shuts off the blender and pours out his mixture into a tall glass. “I’ll be in the tub taking my lavender bath. If you need me...” He shrugs. “Well, try not to need me.” And he closes the bathroom door behind him.

“You know,” Steph announces, “Usually I wake up next to a pretty girl, I offer to make her some eggs.”

Victoria laughs along, aware it’s just a joke but still finding pleasant the idea of breakfast with Steph.

“This time, I don’t wanna be late for class, though.” Steph says regretfully.

“Oh, you go to school?” Of course, Victoria thinks to herself, not everyone else wants to spend all day wallowing in self-pity.

“CSU Northridge. I actually have to give this presentation in the afternoon that I’ve been hella stressing over.”

“Shit, I’m sorry if I kept you from preparing.”

“No way, it’s not really that big a deal. I just get anxious about school stuff. It always seems so formal and official. Psyches me out sometimes.” She tugs at the fringes of her beanie to pull it more snugly onto her head. “It was nice to get outta my head about it actually, just for one night” she confesses. “I had a great time too.”

Victoria delights in Steph’s vibrant smile, feels like she could ride that high for the rest of the day.

“We’ll do it again soon?” Victoria offers.

“Not soon enough,” is Steph’s mischievous reply.

“All right.” Victoria brushes aside some errant blonde bangs from her brow. “You should get ready for your day, smarty pants. I’ll show myself out.”

“Thanks for coming over. Don’t be a stranger, either.”

Shooting back a playful wink, Victoria turns on her heel and exits out the door. On the walk back to her car (thankfully it hadn’t been vandalized, you just never know in this part of town), a single remarkable fact hits her: she had just slept through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's Warren's mystery girl? Read my story titled "Gone, and So Alone."


	3. The Reason Why

**When they were 14**

Steph hadn’t been entirely truthful. That morning before Mrs. Hoida’s lit class was indeed the first time Victoria ever spoke to Steph, but Steph had known of Victoria long before then. In those days it would’ve surely been a feat for anyone to have missed Victoria. Whether it was her designer outfits, or how she inserted herself into every noteworthy sociopolitical machination of the Blackwell student body, or her breathless recounting of the ski trip she took to Switzerland the past winter break, or how she had her personal driver pull up the family's Rolls Royce to the school's front curb on the very first day of school, Victoria Chase was always making a concerted effort to ingrain herself into your consciousness.

Which is what made this day stand out for Steph.

She stepped out of one of the examination rooms at Arcadia Bay Teaching Hospital, having just received no small measure of life-altering news (although that's a story for another time). Her Bose headphones planted firmly to her ears, she took a deep breath, exhaled, as she tried to lose her troubles in Kyle Patrick's bittersweet serenade.

_“You might be the type_

_Of girl that makes me dream when I’m awake.”_

Steph walked over to the vending machine on the other side of the hall. She pretended that the most difficult decision she’d have to make is between Mountain Dew or Pepsi. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Victoria. But it was Victoria as she’d never been seen before.

Instead of the posh clothes from exotic fashion houses that Steph could hardly pronounce, Victoria was dressed in an oversized gray hoodie and simple faded blue jeans. A tweed newsboy hat was pulled low over her eyes. Considering the small fortune she must’ve spent on her hairstyling regimen, it was a wonder that Victoria would cover her head. Another woman walked in front of her. This older lady wore a black boxy jacket, matching knee length skirt, and dark pillbox hat. Steph deduced this might be Victoria’s mother. Mrs. Chase’s low heels marched across the tile floor, Victoria’s Converse sneakers (Steph hadn’t imagined Victoria owning such a thing) shuffling close behind.

Victoria stopped in her tracks. She raised her head and called out something to her mom. The music ringing through Steph’s ears prevented her from hearing it, but she soon removed her headphones. It wasn’t because she desired to eavesdrop. It was more like a sudden instinct to spring into action, the kind that takes over when you recognize someone is in distress.

Her face contorted in anguish, Victoria could be heard exclaiming, “I can’t!”

“Honey.” Mrs. Chase tried to grab hold of her daughter by the shoulders, but Victoria scampered a few steps back. “We’ve already discussed this.”

“Please don’t make me!” Victoria pleaded.

“I know it’s hard to understand.” Mrs. Chase approached Victoria gingerly, as you would have to a wounded animal lashing out for fear of her life. “This is what’s best for you.”

“I don’t want to!” Victoria buries her face in her hands. Her body heaves as she weeps intensely.

Mrs. Chase takes hold of her sobbing daughter, places a soft hand behind Victoria’s head, gently strokes Victoria’s back with the other hand.

“This...” Mrs. Chase swallowed hard, seemingly trying to suppress her own tears. “This will all be over soon.”

Victoria was absent from school for the next week or so. When she returned, it was the exact same Victoria, bursting with bravado and out to conquer the world.

By no stretch of the imagination were Steph and Victoria close back then. But Steph decided that whatever had caused Victoria to break down into the blubbering mess she saw at the hospital, she wouldn’t wish that kind of wound on even her worst enemy.

* * *

**When they are 18**

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* * *

It wasn’t difficult for Victoria to find the classroom. A quick search through CSU Northridge’s course list, and she found only a single Classical Japanese Literature class being conducted at 3 PM on Fridays. She gently pushes open the entrance door to the lecture hall, taking care not to make a noise.

“The next speaker,” announces the professor (who Victoria had seen from the online syllabus is named Tengo Kawana), “Is Ms. Steph Gingrich.”

Kawana-sensei is elderly, but far from decrepit. His wide shoulders and hulking chest suggest impressive physical formidability in his past. He may not be a hobgoblin, but Steph is right, he’s not gonna be modeling skivvies for Calvin Klein anytime soon, either.

Victoria sits down in the empty far back row and sees Steph rise from her seat. Steph descends the steps toward the front of the classroom (with all the apparent enthusiasm of a convicted felon on her way to the gallows).

“Um...” is all she manages to eke out. She clears her throat in what proves to be a largely futile attempt to activate her speaking voice. “Today I’ll be speaking about the Man’yoshu, which you may know as the oldest extant collection of classical Japanese poetry.”

Victoria notices the audience is very clearly not yet impressed with such elementary information. Steph’s anxiety only seems to heighten.

Steph tries to carry on, voice wavering more and more with each passing syllable. “The works in the compilation are notable for their emphasis on Shinto values, such as...” Steph looks down at the flashcard in her hand. However, she’s squeezing too hard and fumbles the bundle of cards to the floor. “Fuck!” She drops to her knees and tries to scoop up the scattered pieces of paper.

Murmurs flare up among the audience. Victoria isn’t sure what causes Steph to lift her gaze, why she expects to find some kind of saving grace in the crowd. But her eyes somehow instantly, perhaps even instinctively, find Victoria’s. Victoria offers up a meek wave, then mimics a strong inhale and extended exhale, beckoning Steph to do the same.

Steph can be seen drawing in a breath, holding it deep in her chest, releasing it at a deliberate pace. She stands up again. “As I was saying, the Shinto value of _makoto_ , or forthrightness...”

It doesn’t go flawlessly, but Steph makes it through her five-minute speech without too many more stumbles. Victoria had hoped that her presence would allow Steph to imagine just having a casual chat with a close friend. Maybe that had done the trick. Or possibly Steph was imagining Victoria in her underwear.

“Finally, I’d like to recite one of my favorite passages, from Book 11, verse 2,513.” Steph clears her throat, pulls a drag of air into her lungs, lets the lines flow smoothly from within: “ _Narukami no sukoshi hibiki mite / Sashi kumori / Ame mo furanu ka / Kimi o tomemu?_ ” For that last entreaty, Victoria feels Steph’s obvious intention to lock eyes together.

“That’s all,” Steph concludes. “Thanks for listening.”

Cordial applause rises from the collection of fellow classmates.

“That’s it for today,” Professor Kawana announces. “Have a safe evening.”

Steph meets Victoria in the hallway outside the room. The two practically leap into each other’s arms.

“You killed it!” Victoria praises her.

“All thanks to you,” Steph replies in gratitude.

Victoria is just thinking she could spend all day admiring Steph’s beaming smile of accomplishment.

But this moment is soon broken up as a bright, cheerful voice can be heard calling out, “ _Suteffu-chan_!”

Before she sees the woman, Victoria notices the noise of stilettos against the vinyl flooring. Judging by the timbre, Victoria guesses a pair of Jimmy Choo patent-leather pointed pumps.

The lady wearing the shoes, however, proved even more impressive. Everything about this woman seems put together with geometric precision, from her features which look to be crafted from porcelain, to the exact angle of the curve on her eyelashes, from the way her wavy brown hair is dyed the perfect shade of chestnut brown to catch the early afternoon light just so, to how the respective lengths of her halter blouse and A-line skirt correspond to some esoteric ratio of feminine aesthetics.

She strides up and unabashedly places her glossy lips to Steph’s. Victoria feels her hands balling up, but immediately releases when her nails start to dig into her palms. For her part, Steph seems a little startled by the gesture.

“Nice...” Steph gives a bashful giggle. “Nice to see you too.” She turns to Victoria. “Victoria, this is Ruka Sakai. She’s a doctoral student from Kyoto University.”

“ _Hajimemashite,_ ” Ruka says to Victoria. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same.” Victoria doesn’t quite meet Ruka’s level of enthusiasm.

“ _Happyou wa doudatta_?” Ruka asks Steph.

“It went great,” Steph proudly reports.

“ _Jugyou ni sanka dekinakute gomennasai_ ,” Ruka offers in apology. “ _Watashi no hakushironbun no sensei ga girigiri ni denwa shita no_.”

“Really, it’s fine,” Steph assures.

Catching on that Steph isn’t willing to try to exclude Victoria from the conversation, Ruka just switches back to English. “Do you want to celebrate? Last week at the gym I met this guy who works as the maître d’ for Yazawa, that yakiniku restaurant in Beverly Hills. He can get us a table tonight!”

Steph groans in disappointment. “I can’t, I picked up a shift at John’s for later.”

Ruka pouts her lips. Victoria is tempted to lay a fist on them to get them more swollen.

“Afternoon tea at Getty Villa this weekend?” Ruka offers.

“That’s still on, don’t worry,” says Steph.

Ruka smiles back with all 32 of her teeth. How about I chip one of those pearly whites, Victoria ponders.

“OK. If you’ll excuse me, I’m giving a lecture on photoperiodism,” Ruka announces. “What is the expression? ‘No rest for the weary’?” She gives a self-satisfied smirk, lingering on Victoria for a moment too long. Ruka addresses Steph one final time, “ _Jaa mata_.”

“See ya,” Steph responds.

Ruka saunters away, posture so straight and upright as if she were balancing a bucket of water atop her head.

“So you speak Japanese? Very impressive,” Victoria says to Steph.

“Just what little I pick up from bootleg anime DVDs,” Steph explains.

“Useful in case you meet some _aidoru_ babe, no?” Victoria teases.

Steph rolls her eyes.

As they step out of the building, they are greeted with a torrential downpour. Other students are scurrying back indoors.

“Shit, I forgot my umbrella,” Victoria laments.

“What, that Benz of yours doesn’t come with a designer tote?” Steph prods.

Victoria shoots her a playful glower.

“Lucky for you...” Steph reaches into the messenger bag hanging beside her from her shoulder, produces a black collapsible umbrella. “I do check the forecast in the mornings.” She expands it and holds the covering above both herself and Victoria. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

Once again, Victoria is delighted to be confined in a small space with Steph as the pair make their way to the parking lot. The relentless raindrops crashing down around simply can’t touch them, letting Victoria feel like they have their own world in these 40 inches beneath the canopy.

“I was thinking,” Victoria speaks out above the pitter-patter of rain, “I really loved those buddy cop movies we watched at your place. I heard about this drive-in theater in Encino. They’re supposed to be showing Stray Dog sometime soon, and--”

Victoria stops in her speech and her steps when she notices the sensation of rain falling on top of her head. She looks back to see Steph collapsed backward onto the pavement.

* * *

Victoria paces around the waiting room at Northridge Hospital Medical Center. She had counted out every tile on the floor by now. A nurse with a round face and jovial eyes (nametag reading “Betsy”) approaches her, letting her know that Steph is ready to see visitors.

When Victoria enters Steph’s room, two others were already there. Victoria guesses they must be Steph’s parents, who had made the drive down from Sacramento. Mr. Gingrich is a towering mass of muscle, sporting a dark, grizzly beard that suggests he considers chopping firewood to be a good time. Mrs. Gingrich is smaller in stature, but no less serious of a presence. Both of them exude a spirit of perseverance and determined grit. At the present moment, however, they are understandably antsy given what has just afflicted their only child.

“Are you sure you don’t want one more pillow?” Mrs. Gingrich offers to her daughter.

“I’ve got just about every pillow in the goddamn wing,” Steph protests. Surely enough, there are already plenty of pillows tucked behind her in the hospital bed.

“Hey,” Victoria gently speaks up.

“Oh Victoria, thank you,” Steph cries out in relief. “Save me again. From these psychos this time.”

“Can’t thank you enough for getting her here,” Mr. Gingrich says to Victoria.

“Of course.” Victoria places a hand on Mr. Gingrich’s hefty arm. “Steph means a lot to me too.”

Despite her exasperation with her parents, Steph manages to grin at that.

“Did you remember to eat lunch?” Mrs. Gingrich asks Steph, in a tiny bit of an accusatory tone. “You have to eat more than just that deep-fried shit Sully throws together, you know.”

“OK!” Steph throws up both her hands. “You two need to go check in to your hotel room. I’ve already told you my place is too small for you to crash there. Plus, Ryan doesn’t tolerate extra noise the nights before he does bikram yoga. So scoot! Give me one hour of peace and sanity, please.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Mr. Gingrich motions for his wife to follow him out of the room. Mrs. Gingrich is sure to ensnare Victoria in a tight hug of gratitude before leaving.

Now with just Victoria in the room, Steph sighs hugely. “They both act like I’m dying, but it’s gonna be them who’re the death of me.”

“Try to be thankful for them. At least they can be here,” Victoria points out.

Steph purses her lips, realizing she came off as a bit insensitive. “You’re right. Sorry if I sounded ungrateful.”

“It’s fine.” Victoria takes a seat in the chair immediately beside Steph’s bed. “Are you sure you’re OK?”

“Yes, please stop worrying,” Steph pleads. She tugs at the fringes of her beanie. “It’s just some nutritional deficiency thing. I keep telling Sully to add kale to the menu, but he fights me every time.”

Pursuant to that line of thought, Betsy enters the room now, carrying a tray of food from the cafeteria. She places it on the table across Steph’s lap and removes the lid to reveal steamed vegetables and brown rice.

“I was hoping for lobster and foie gras,” Steph says snidely.

“The chef doesn’t want nice meals wasted on lost causes,” Betsy counters.

“Can I at least get--”

Betsy produces two snack cups of Jell-O from the pocket of her scrubs. She turns to Victoria. “You make sure she eats everything before getting to dessert, OK?”

Victoria nods in affirmation.

Betsy does a last check on some monitoring equipment before exiting the room.

Victoria is just a little confused. Steph keeps insisting she’s fine, but considering how familiar she and Betsy seem to be with each other, Steph must’ve been in the hospital pretty often.

“Blue or red?” Steph asks.

Victoria looks back at her quizzically.

“You want the blue Jell-O or the red one?” Steph asks again.

“Why?”

“It’s the test I give to all my friends. Choose wisely.”

Victoria tries to unearth some kind of hidden meaning in this query. Unable to find any, she simply picks up the blue Jell-O.

“Yes!” Steph rejoices. Contrary to Betsy’s edict, Steph snatches up the red cup and peels off the top. She uses her spoon to scoop out a generous helping and pops it into her mouth. “You passed. Red is my favorite,” she says while savoring the sugary goodness.

“Did Ruka have to do this test? I’m surprised she isn’t here,” Victoria pokes.

“She’s not exactly a ‘visit you at the hospital’ kind of friend.”

“More like a ‘kiss you on the mouth’ kind of friend,” Victoria japes further.

“Oh please.” Steph rolls her eyes. “She and I had a drunken makeout session at one of the international student mixers earlier in the school year. That’s it.”

“That’s some hardcore ‘mixing’ going on.”

“She’s especially affectionate, yes. It’s just that she can’t be as open with this kinda stuff back at home. They don’t understand it so well.”

“I knew she was here for reasons beyond studying plant biology. She doesn’t fool me.”

“Hey,” Steph takes this moment to look Victoria dead in her eyes. “She’s not here now. You and I are here. And we...” She raises her cup. “We’re true friends now.”

Victoria can’t help but smile back. She peels the top of her blue Jell-O and bumps it with Steph’s in this “toast.” Regardless of what else might be troubling Steph, in this moment at least, she’s overjoyed and glad to be spending time with Victoria. Who is now officially declared one of her “true friends.” Everything else can work itself out later. Right?


	4. Resign

“Are you almost done?” Victoria asks, trying to limit her voice to a whisper out of consideration for her and Steph’s surroundings. The remainder of the students occupying CSU Northridge’s Oviatt Library are deathly quiet.

“Almost,” Steph responds.

“You said that 10 minutes ago,” Victoria protests.

Despite her best efforts at silence, this still elicits a “Shh!” from a scrawny male student wearing wire frame glasses and poring over a tome the size of the Necronomicon.

“I offered to meet you at the theater,” Steph gently points out. “I already said I had extra homework to finish.”

“Yes, you mentioned homework. You didn’t say you were composing the next movement to the Jupiter Symphony.”

“Verb conjugations have always been my weak point, so just let me focus if you want this to have a chance of getting done before the movie starts.”

With a roll of her eyes, Victoria tries to occupy herself again with the copy of last month’s National Geographic before her. She’s rereading the same paragraph on an excavation at Hadrian’s Wall for about the third time but is unable to muster up much interest. She shuts the magazine and leans back in her chair. She stretches her arms high in the air, groans loudly.

The scrawny male student in wire frame glasses gives an extended “Shhh!” this time.

Victoria lays her head on the table, stares intently at Steph, as if a look alone can spur Steph to work quicker. Steph proves that this isn’t the case and merely offers back an empty glance at Victoria.

“What’s this guy saying?” Victoria points her well-manicured index finger at Steph’s Japanese textbook, specifically at a manga-style panel depicting a dialogue.

“Um...” Steph takes a moment to read over the text. “Akio is asking Risako, ‘Do you like me?’”

“How do you say it?”

Steph doesn’t look up from her current assignment as she enunciates the next phrase. “ _Watashi no koto ga suki?_ ”

Victoria repeats deliberately, “ _Watashi no...koto ga...sue-key?”_

“No, the sound is more compact, like ‘ski.’ As in, ‘skiing,’ you know?”

“Ah, OK.”

“I need the other volume of this dictionary,” Steph announces. She gets up from her seat and walks over to another nearby rack of books to search for her desired text.

Desirous of some mischief to break up the monotony of the situation, Victoria draws a deep breath and releases the following phrase in a holler, straight out the top of her lungs: “ _WATASHI NO KOTO GA SUKI?!_ ” It’s no surprise she’s directing the exclamation right at Steph, who makes a mad dash back to Victoria and tries to place a hand over the blonde girl’s now guffawing mouth.

While undeniably abhorred by the nasty looks that all the other students are now shooting at them, Steph is at the same time inexplicably thrilled by the immensely free spirit that Victoria lives with. It’s why the hints of a smile are still breaking out amidst the glower that Steph is trying to use to admonish Victoria.

Sensing that a mean look isn’t quite going to do the trick, Steph snatches up a sticky note and uses her sharpie to write “バカ” (“idiot”) across it. Steph then places the note atop Victoria’s upper lip, covering her mouth. Underneath the paper, Victoria is making a self-satisfied grin.

Steph walks back over to the book rack to search again for the dictionary she needs. Victoria, now consigned back to the realm of boredom, rests her chin in her hand and sighs. But it isn’t too long after that she feels an eraser get lobbed on top of her head. Turning to the direction whence the projectile came, she sees Steph motioning for Victoria to come behind this one tall bookshelf.

Victoria walks over to join Steph, who swiftly tugs the sticky note away from Victoria’s face, thereby exposing her mouth for a quick peck of the lips. The motion is so sudden, Victoria doesn’t even get the chance to jump back in shock. Instead, she lets the taste of cherry lip gloss linger in her senses.

“That answer your question?” Steph remarks with a sly smirk.

Victoria blinks a few times. Her synapses are still firing out of control, her comprehension overloaded on account of abundance of stimuli. The elements of the scene still can’t quite be assembled into a single coherent image. She’d just been kissed, that much she can ascertain. The girl who kissed her is someone she’s been crushing on, she had to confess to that as well. And Victoria also knows that this girl’s kindhearted nature, the earnest and forthright care and affection she shows to all who are lucky enough to be close to her, not to mention her impeccable taste in classic action cinema, those are all things that contribute to the crush that had been harbored. Those are all things that make her feel so damn lucky to be one of the few who are close to Steph.

But could there even be an even deeper closeness? It feels selfish to even ask it. What more could be expected of Steph to give? And yet, Victoria feels the desire for that deepening all the same.

“Let’s just leave,” Steph says, breaking Victoria out of her ponderings. “Gotta hit the concessions before they sell out of Sno-Caps.”

Still left just slightly entranced, Victoria can only offer up a dorky chuckle and “O...OK,” as the two make their way out of the building.

* * *

The Aero Theatre is showing a double feature that evening, first Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror followed by Four Weddings and a Funeral.

As Count Orlok lumbers from out the shadows to greet Thomas Hutter, Victoria places some Bugles corn snacks on her fingertips so as to mimic the vampire’s trademark claws. Victoria feigns to “slash” at Steph, who simply pinches one of the chips in between her slender fingers and pops it into her mouth.

As a counter-attack, Victoria snatches up a handful of heavily buttered popcorn from the bucket on the seat beside her and flippantly tosses the kernels in Steph’s direction. Steph wields a Twizzler and feigns to stab vampire Victoria through the heart. Victoria shields her chest with her soft pretzel. Steph reaches for her phone and turns on the flashlight, mimicking sunlight to shine on Victoria, who tries to block the rays with her hands yet writhes in her seat as she’s supposed to be “dissolving” in the presence of her mortal weakness.

* * *

“It was--it was all my fault. I mean, I--I’m the bastard here,” Hugh Grant stutters along in his signature style of charming befuddlement.

As he continues to pour out his heart to Andie MacDowell, the two of them becoming drenched in the torrential downpour, Steph finds herself getting so immersed in the scene that she retrieves her collapsible umbrella and opens it above herself and Victoria. Victoria smiles as she hooks her arm around Steph’s and snuggles closer. The rain might not have been real, but the need to get nearer to Steph certainly is.

“For the first time in my whole life,” Grant continues, “I realized that I totally and utterly loved one person.”

Victoria lets her gaze settle on Steph. As her crystal-clear blue eyes stare forward, Victoria muses on how people arrive at the realization of who they love. Does it always require some wild caper involving opportune reunions, heartfelt confessions in the rain, and sardonic Scotsmen in kilts? Or sometimes does it happen in a simpler, more unassuming manner? Like in the diligence she shows when putting together your hamburger or how her use of emojis as a form of punctuation makes her messages to you feel like personally crafted entreaties to your heart?

What does it take to realize love?

* * *

Later that night back at Steph’s apartment in Reseda Heights, rather than launching into another movie marathon like on their first “date,” the two have a continuation of what they got into at the library. Victoria hadn’t expected the blue suede couch with the ketchup stain on the right armrest to be such a mood setter, but now she finds herself entangled in Steph’s embrace, lips, tongues, hands, fingers locked in some artful choreography which is at once both deliberate and willful but also instinctual and slightly wild with an unhinged quality to how they explore one another’s touch.

As the mutual yearning continues to magnify exponentially between them, Victoria holds Steph’s face in both hands, just to make sure the contact between their mouths is maintained persistently. Steph’s lips loosen in a whimper, inviting Victoria’s tongue to slip through. Victoria moans in contentment at the taste of Steph’s own tongue.

But Steph doesn’t want to be the only one left making helpless noises at the mercy of her lover, so she grabs hold of some of the blonde locks from the back of Victoria’s head, gives a playful yet forceful tug. Victoria gasps quickly, delighting in the sense of surprise. Steph capitalizes on the opening and moves in to place several tender kisses along the length of Victoria’s neck, starting first at the base near her clavicle and advancing upward, eventually giving a gentle nibble to Victoria’s earlobe. Victoria giggles but also resolves to take some initiative of her own.

Since she looks now to put the balance of the give-take dynamic more on her side of the scale, she clutches Steph by her hips and twists around, pulling Steph to be straddled across her lap. Steph gives a quick yelp at the swiftness of the motion, only for Victoria to pounce on her once more by planting mouth to mouth again. Steph is almost knocked backward by the force with which Victoria reunites their bodies. Victoria slides her hands under Steph’s shirt (the red one with “Arcadia Bay” in a flowy script font drawn across the front). Immediately sensing the goosebumps encroaching on Steph’s skin, Victoria lets her fingers crawl tantalizingly across every inch of Steph’s smooth flesh. Victoria relishes the light little tremors that Steph gives to her touch. Steph unclasps their lips to release a shuddering groan as Victoria greedily grasps at Steph’s breasts, pinches Steph’s nipples through the satiny fabric of her bra.

When she decides there should be no more barriers to her touch, Victoria slips her hands down to grab at the hem of Steph’s shirt. But as Steph feels her shirt being lifted, she jumps out of her seated position across Victoria’s lap. Steph scoots back along the couch to the far opposite side, her expression one of wide-eyed apprehension. Steph frantically paws at the hem of her shirt, desperately needing to confirm again and again that her clothing is still in place.

“I...” Steph stammers as she tugs at the fringes of her beanie.

“I’m sorry,” Victoria preempts her apology. “I didn’t know if you wanted--”

“I do!” Steph assures her. “It’s just...”

“But we don’t have to,” Victoria affirms. “I didn’t mean to...” The girl purses her lips, sighs hugely. “I should just go.” She rises from her seat and makes a beeline for her Burberry handbag which had been sitting on the kitchen table.

“What? No.” Steph gets up as well, but beyond this, she’s left completely clueless on how else she should respond. “I don’t want you to think--”

“I don’t really know what to think,” Victoria interjects, still unable to meet Steph’s eyes.

Victoria rushes past Steph and out the front door. Making it only halfway to her Mercedes parked on the other end of the lot, Victoria stops her Michael Kors Lillie leather moccasins in their tracks. Taking a deep breath to compose her thoughts and steel her resolve again, she turns around and walks back to the front door of apartment 109.

She gives a few solid knocks before speaking out. “Steph?” No immediate response, so she continues, “Steph, I don’t want us to leave things like that.”

Still nothing from the other side. She tests out the doorknob to find that it’s unlocked. She twists and gingerly pushes open the door. She finds Steph once again collapsed to the floor, body convulsing wildly.

* * *

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” Steph states in exasperation.

Her parents hadn’t arrived yet, so it was up to Victoria this time to place pillows behind her back. It was well into dawn by now, so the hospital’s kitchen was obviously closed. Still, Betsy managed to scrounge up a couple of Jell-O cups from the pantry.

“You should head home,” Steph suggests.

“What? No, I don’t want to leave you alone,” Victoria objects.

“That’s actually what I need the most. In a few hours my folks are gonna come bursting in here with their barrage of questions, and I need some time to decompress for that.” Steph scoops up the last bite of red jelly into her plastic spoon and slides it into her mouth. She crushes the container in her hand and chucks it into the wastebin beside her bed. “Go on, get yourself some decent sleep. We’ll talk about this later.”

* * *

Contrary to Steph’s proclamation, she didn’t call Victoria in the following days. Victoria’s efforts to reach her went unreturned as well. Victoria also checked with Sully and Ryan, both of whom seemed just as far in the dark as her.

With most of her options exhausted, Victoria turns to an unlikely ally.

Ruka Sakai had just dismissed the students in her Intro Biology class. She’s placing the stack of essays she’d collected into her briefcase when Victoria comes stepping cautiously into her classroom.

“Ruka. Hi.” Victoria offers a reserved but still cordial wave in greeting.

“Victoria.” Ruka regards her with an expression that’s not easily deciphered. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“I haven’t really properly introduced myself. I’m Victoria Chase.”

“Ah, Chase. I do know you.”

“Oh?”

“When I was in high school, I did a homestay with a family in Seattle. My visit to the Chase Space was the highlight of the whole trip.”

Victoria raises her eyebrows in mild surprise.

Ruka continues, “I heard about your parents and the storm last year. I’m truly very sorry.”

Victoria responds with a somber nod.

“Are you managing the gallery in the meantime?”

“Um...” Victoria looks down, shuffles her feet uneasily. “No. One of my parents’ partners is taking over. I felt like I needed to take some time away from everything.”

“This is ‘away’ for you, then?”

“Yeah I guess so.”

“I see.” Ruka grabs her red lace shrug which had been hanging across the back of her chair, then slips her arms through the sleeves. “Please forgive me if I’m out of line in saying this, but I do hope you can return to the business soon. It’s a proud part of your family’s legacy. Hence, it’s a special opportunity to be involved with something that has an important impact on the world. I know it did so for my life.”

Victoria must admit she had always rather taken for granted the various ventures her parents were involved in. She could appreciate the success and positive reputation those endeavors brought to her and the rest of her family, but she never quite thoroughly considered the extent of effort it took to keep everything flowing. Nor had she thought about how significant of a role those entities played in society.

“It’s nice of you to say so,” Victoria replies. “I’ll give some serious thought to that.”

“Please do. Is there something I could help you with today?”

Victoria wrings her hands in anxiety. “I was wondering if you’d maybe heard from Steph recently? She was in the hospital a few days ago, but I haven’t been able to reach her since.”

Ruka furrows her brow, clearly deliberating on something in her mind. “I don’t think she’d want me to tell you this,” Ruka concedes. “She only let it slip one night after too many jello shots at the student union.”

“I wouldn’t want to pry,” Victoria clarifies.

“But I can tell she likes you,” Ruka admits. “That afternoon when you and I first met, she kept on speaking in English even after I started in Japanese. It’s a kind of code between her and me, how she lets me know if she wants someone to leave her alone. You passed, though.”

Victoria can’t help but let the traces of a prideful grin start forming around her mouth.

“By the way, I apologize if I came off like some basic mean girl bitch. I don’t want you to think I was engaging in shameless schoolyard trifles.”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks for explaining.”

After giving a light smile, Ruka pulls out a piece of stationery from her black leather Coach carryall and starts scribbling with her fountain pen. Upon completing her note, she hands the paper to Victoria.

“It’s the address to her parents’ place in Sacramento,” Ruka elaborates. “I sent some greeting cards to them for Christmas last year. I’m sorry I don’t have a phone number. That’d be easier, no? Then again, I guess if you’re willing to go all that way just to see her, that means she must prove very special for you as well?”

Victoria stares hard at the small bit of information before her, the only clue she’s gotten so far into what could be going on with Steph. Ruka raised an interesting point. How far, literally and figuratively, was Victoria actually willing to go in order to understand this girl who not so long ago had been an afterthought in Victoria’s distant past? How special has Steph proven for Victoria after all?

“Thank you, Ruka.”

“ _Ganbatte ne,_ Victoria Chase.”

Victoria resolutely marches back to her Mercedes and punches in the address in her GPS. Almost a six hour trip.

She switches on her stereo too, hoping Eric Dill can be sufficient company for the drive.

_“Resign._

_Resign those wandering eyes,_

_And wake up to my love_

_Tonight.”_


	5. Love Still Goes On

**When she was 14**

“I want to see him!”

“He’s already halfway across the country by now.”

“They can’t do that to me! To us!”

“What ‘us’ are you talking about? What future do you see with him? How many couples do you know start at your age and actually stay together?”

“...”

“Even if he were still here, do you seriously believe you’d be able to make it last? More than likely it would end eventually, and you’d be in the same place you are now, only there’d be yet another life involved to make it even messier.”

“What are you saying? What do you expect me to do?”

“Victoria...are you honestly ready to be a mother?”

* * *

**When they are 18**

Victoria did manage to complete the drive over to the Gingrich household in Sacramento, although she exits her Mercedes with a stiff back and sore joints. It’s a modest single story rambler ranch house with rustic brick façade. Well suited for the Gingrich family’s workmanlike aura, Victoria assesses. She is walking the cobblestone pathway through the well kempt lawn and leading up to the front entrance when she sees Lita Gingrich rushing out the front door with a hefty duffel bag in tow.

Mrs. Gingrich regards Victoria with a most puzzled expression.

* * *

When Victoria and Lita walk into her room at Sutter Medical Center, Steph is playing a card game with her father.

“Uno,” Mr. Gingrich states.

“Again?” Steph cries out in incredulity.

“Ahem!” Lita clears her throat to gain the attention of the pair.

Steph turns her focus to her mother and is positively mortified to see Victoria also there.

“Fuck!” Steph exclaims. Her hands scramble to snatch the zip-up hoodie lying across the drawer next to her bed. She hastily shoves her arms through the sleeves and tugs the hood over her head.

Over her bald head.

Steph folds her arms in front of her chest and hangs her head low. “Why did you bring her here?” she snaps at Lita.

“She drove all the way from LA,” Lita says firmly. “Said you didn’t so much as leave her a note.”

Steph is still refusing to look up. “I don’t want to see anyone!”

Lita marches over to Steph’s bedside and addresses her in a calm, measured tone, “This isn’t the time for your petulant recluse act. You owe her an explanation.”

Mrs. Gingrich is planted firm in her stance, continuing to stare intensely at her daughter.

Once Steph realizes she can’t burrow away far enough to escape this predicament, she heaves a massive sigh and finally glances back at Victoria, who holds her own expression of thorough concern on her face.

“Come on, George,” Lita beckons to her husband.

Steph’s parents make their way out of the room, the door shutting with a resonant clunk.

Victoria gingerly steps to the chair beside Steph’s bed and takes a seat there.

Steph pulls the hood back down, exposing her bare scalp once again. “I never wanted you to see me like this,” she says mournfully.

Victoria places her hand on Steph’s and gives a reassuring squeeze. “Who are you trying to impress?” Victoria entreats her. “It’s just me.”

“It’s not _just_ you.” Steph can finally return Victoria’s intent gaze. “You’re Victoria.” She now places her other hand atop Victoria’s. “Pushy. Aggressive.”

Victoria laughs lightly to herself.

“Yet delicate.” Steph is so bold as to reach out and brush away an errant strand of blond hair that has fallen across Victoria’s eyes. “Kindhearted and beautiful,” Steph continues.

Victoria blinks away a few encroaching tears. No, she was never used to heartfelt exhortations, never gave them nor sought them out. And yet, when it comes from Steph, all of it bears new profound purpose and meaning to her.

“So why’d you disappear on me?” Victoria asks. “What’s wrong? I just want to know how I can help.”

Steph’s hands slink away from Victoria’s grasp. Steph runs her palm across her bare scalp. It’s almost as if she were reaching for the fringe of her beanie, until she realizes at the last moment it isn’t there. “When I was 14,” she folds her hands neatly across her lap, picks at some of the lint on her blanket, “they found a tumor in my brain,” Steph recounts. “My folks decided to move us back here to be closer to family. Just in case I, you know, got worse.”

“It wasn’t your grandmother who was sick.”

“Right. It was me.” Steph smooths out some of the wrinkles that have bunched up on her blanket. “There’s a neurologist here who does this procedure to relieve some of the pressure in my skull. Makes the symptoms a little less severe. I have to get it done every few weeks.”

Victoria swallows the horrible lump in her throat. “That’s why your hair...”

“Yeah, that explains my whole Sinead O’Connor routine,” Steph quips. “They have to shave my head every time. Eventually I figured there’s no point in trying to grow my hair out again. Been wearing a wig since then.”

Victoria smiles gently at her, as reassuring as possible. “You’re more Evey Hammond than Sinead.”

That earns a light chuckle from Steph.

Victoria feels relieved to have done a little for lightening the mood, but there is still a last heavy matter she needs to understand. “The fainting at school? And the seizure?”

“My body’s stopped responding to the treatment,” Steph announces with an agonizingly cracked voice. “They say there’s this surgery to remove the tumor, but the list of possible complications is a mile long.” Steph starts to visibly shudder in fright at the risks she’s expecting to face. “Partial paralysis. Impaired speech and motor functions. Mood swings. Personality changes.” A lone tear rolls listlessly down her cheek. “Memory loss.”

It’s Victoria’s turn to reach out. She uses her thumb to wipe away the teardrop while at the same time redirecting Steph’s eyes straight to her own. “But you’d be alive.”

“And what kind of life would it be?” Steph bemoans.

“It’d be one with your parents. With Sully and Ryan. With Warren. With Ruka.” Victoria has to dab at her own wet eyes with the back of her hand. “With me.”

The lone tear was simply a prelude for the deluge that now comes for Steph. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Steph decries. “I was supposed to go away quietly. Not leave anyone wanting for me. Not leave myself wanting for anyone.”

She buries her face in both hands and weeps deeply. Victoria rises from her seat, sits down at the edge of Steph’s bed. Victoria uses her arms to cradle Steph’s shivering, dainty frame.

“Ever since I met you,” Steph confesses through the wracking sobs, “I’ve been wanting more time.”

Steph manages to compose herself enough to direct her glance back up at Victoria’s lush green eyes.

“More time with you,” Steph admits.

In her brief years, Victoria has learned that time is never a guarantee. For so many close to her, it’s simply run out with no semblance of justice or rationality.

“How ironic,” Steph concludes. “At what’s supposed to be the end of my life, that’s when I’ve felt the most alive.”

Resolving to do the most she can, live the best she can with whatever time is left, Victoria places her lips to Steph’s. But she tries to not make it a frantic or urgent. She desires not for it to be a desperate gesture intended to capture what will be the final fleeting moments between the two. She lets these humble sentiments of hers linger in Steph’s senses. She lets Steph know these feelings persist in the present and will persevere long into the later stretches of time.

* * *

Steph was allowed to have one final night at home before her surgery. After dinner, Victoria finds her sitting at the wooden swing set in her backyard.

Kyle Patrick’s moody vocals croon from Steph’s phone.

_“You give it all. You get it back someday._

_So how do we make the same mistakes?”_

Victoria seats herself on the swing next to Steph, who greets her with a knowing grin before returning her attention back to the starlit night.

“Thanks for treating us to dinner,” Steph says. “I’d hate for my potential last meal to be mom’s turkey tetrazzini.” Steph sticks her tongue out of her mouth and points while feigning a gag.

Victoria laughs gently at the jest. “You’ll be fine. You’re gonna be back to suffering through those mushy noodles and bland sauce in no time.”

“Ugh,” Steph groans, “Give me the tumor any day.”

Victoria reaches out and takes Steph’s hand which is hanging lazily down by her side.

“Then how about having more moments like this?” Victoria proposes. “That’d be worth it, no?”

Steph sighs in contentment. “Yeah. I totally think so.”

For as long as they are allowed, for as long as this world, with all its inequities and obligations and distractions, will allow, the two young women sit there, hands clasped tight. They swing back and forth in their seats in unison, their movements harmonizing same as the melody of the cicadas ringing out in the humid July air.

“What do you think it would’ve been like,” Steph posits, “If we’d tried to do this earlier? Like when we first met?”

“You kidding me? It would’ve been like cats and dogs. Oil and vinegar. Lamb and tuna fish.” Victoria uses her best Rob Schneider impression for that last example.

“What are you saying?” asks Steph in mock offense, “It wasn’t always ‘meant to be’ between us?”

“Nothing’s ever ‘meant to be,’” Victoria elaborates. “You have to fix yourself first. Only then is anything ever going ‘to be.’”

“Were you fixing yourself back then?”

Victoria directs her gaze to the spongy grass of the lawn beneath her feet. “I was breaking myself even worse.” She withdraws her hand from Steph’s grasp. “After that first time we spoke at John’s, I got to thinking about what you mentioned. That morning in Mrs. Hoida’s class.”

“Really, I didn’t mean for it to be anything serious. I just thought it might be a funny little thing after all these years.”

“In truth, it’s more than that,” Victoria confides. “You remember I had been gone from school a bit before then, right?”

Steph gives a simple nod of affirmation.

Victoria chews on her lower lip, still deliberating if she should let this confession go free. “I got an abortion.”

Steph blinks a few times in stunned silence.

After drawing a deep breath, Victoria continues, “Over fall break, I went back to Seattle to visit some old classmates from prep school. We had this typical teenage rager of a house party. You know, the kind with way too much freedom and hormones, not enough accountability for future consequences.”

Victoria laughs in pity of herself. “And of course there was this boy, Matt Muir. He’s the type who has the looks of Zack Morris, only when he smiles, he gets those dimples like A.C. Slater. And when he stares in your eyes, it makes you feel like the first time you listened to the Beatles.”

She wraps her arms around herself. The light breeze rolling in has very little to do with the chill in her bones. “I’ll spare you the gory details, but needless to say when I got back to Arcadia Bay, all the signs started piling up. I missed my period. Vomiting in the morning. And that goddamn heartburn.”

Victoria clutches her head with both hands. “As soon as his parents found out, they had him on a plane to boarding school in Germany. They told me if I ever tried to contact him again, they’d cut him off from his inheritance.”

Steph finally grows the nerve to place a soft hand on Victoria’s quaking shoulder.

“I was just some dumb one-night stand, right?” Victoria says, a notable tremor settling into her voice. “Who was I to get in the way of his future?” She sniffles and dabs at her dampening eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan. “Mom was also quick to remind me I had my own plans to live up to.”

“They had no right,” Steph states.

“We were just kids,” Victoria concedes. “We wouldn’t have stood much of a chance.” She reflexively places both hands on her abdomen. “That was when I decided,” she goes on, “It’s better to hurt others first. Then they’d be too scared to try to hurt you.” She looks back at Steph, finally, this time with an expression of pained remorse. “I guess you were the first one I tested that theory on.”

After a tense beat, Steph raises her hand and cups it gingerly around Victoria’s cheek, now damp with tears. Victoria finds that she nestles her face into Steph’s palm.

“You weren’t gonna get rid of me that easily,” Steph announces.

Victoria places one hand of hers on top of Steph’s, deepening the touch.

“We’ve got a chance to look straight ahead and just live, from this point on only,” Steph points out. “From this point on, it can be just us.”

_“Oh, bless your heart.”_

Steph gets down from her swing and kneels to the ground in front of Victoria. The two are now looking to each other straight on, nary any distance between them.

_“You spent it all on a fallen star.”_

Steph nuzzles her head against Victoria’s chest. Steph listens to the faint thudding of Victoria’s heart, the force that gives her life. She’s encouraged by how powerfully that force endures.

_“The money, the money, the money’s all gone,”_

Victoria rests herself, her burdens, her worries and fears atop the one who has offered up all her own strength in a totally willing way.

_“But it’s funny, it’s funny ‘cause love still goes on.”_

And for the two of them, all of this may just be enough for things to be OK.


	6. The World Comes Crawling Back

“That’s Warren,” Steph is quick to point out.

“Very good.” Victoria swipes to the next photo. “And her?”

“She’s Chloe. Used to hit me up all the time for bootleg movies.”

“Spot on.” Victoria shows the next photo. “

Steph had to spend the immediate period of time after her surgery undergoing all kinds of tests and observations. As soon as she had the chance to start, Victoria had been helping Steph with memory drills in a concerted effort to build back up her knowledge of the people from her past.

And who’s this ravishing creature?” It’s a picture from after their movie night at the Aero. Victoria has a Twizzler placed between her upper lip and nose, mimicking a mustache.

“She is...V...” Steph scratches her head in feigned confusion. “Veronica?”

Victoria gives a jocular shove to Steph on the shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be my girlfriend?” Steph inquires.

Victoria purses her lips. “I wouldn’t say ‘supposed to.’ Makes it sound like you’re obligated or something. You aren’t duty-bound to me or anything like that.”

“Well...” Steph throws back a mischievous grin. “I definitely wouldn’t mind seeing more of you.”

Victoria beams a bright smile in response, heat rising in her cheeks just ever so slightly. Steph may have lost her memory, but certainly not the playful, bold, expressive spirit that Victoria had fallen for in the first place.

“I think that’s good enough for now. Ruka, that exchange student from your university, she’s coming after lunch to help you practice some more Japanese. And...” Victoria checks through her phone once more and finds a text from another of their old classmates from Blackwell. “Mikey North, he went to high school with us too, but the family moved to California after his dad found a new job. He is gonna be stopping by tomorrow to show you Dungeons and Dragons again.”

Victoria shows her phone to Steph, who is able to see a selfie of Mikey holding up his 5th edition Dungeon Master’s Guide. Accompanying the image is a message reading “IT’S ON!”

“Wow, thank you really for setting all this up,” Steph replies appreciatively. “I imagine I’d be some raving lunatic wandering around the halls at night if you weren’t here.”

“No way,” Victoria assures her. “You’re a fighter. That’s one thing I’ll never let you forget. You can do anything.”

Steph offers a smile of sincere gratitude. It’s her turn to blush a little now.

“Oh! Speaking of...” Victoria digs through her Kate Spade cornflower handbag and eventually produces a simple envelope. “Your roommate got this in the mail a few days ago and had it overnighted here. I dunno why he insisted on me being the one to give you the news, but here you go.”

Steph takes the envelope into her hands. Emblazoned across the upper left-hand corner is a bright violet logo depicting an upheld torch. She opens it and unfolds the letter contained inside.

“Dear Ms. Gingrich,” she reads, “New York University is pleased to announce your acceptance into the Tisch School of Arts Theatre Studies program for the Spring 2015 semester.”

Steph glances back at Victoria, as if to confirm the validity of the recent course of events. Victoria simply nods back.

“This is a good school, right?” Steph asks.

“One of the best!” Victoria confirms.

Steph chuckles in bemusement. “Go me.”

“You deserve it. Like I told you, you are just gonna keep on doing amazing things.”

“But you go to school here?”

“Uh...” Victoria wrings her hands. “No. I’ve been taking some time off, I guess you’d say. But I did receive an offer from Bryn Mawr College. It’s in Pennsylvania.”

“Sorry, dude, my geography is still whacked.”

“Oh, it’s pretty close to New York. Maybe only a couple hours’ drive.”

“So you could come visit?”

Victoria can’t contain her gleeful grin over that prospect. “Yeah,” she’s so glad to affirm. “Yeah, I totally could.”

The two of them gaze expectantly at each other, both of them still so overflowing with boundless hope for the future.

The door swings open, and in steps the nurse. He wheels in a trolley with two plates, each containing some Caesar salad with grilled chicken breast. After placing the food on the table over Steph’s bed, the nurse performs the perfunctory check of the monitoring equipment, then exits without a further word.

Before the two women start on their meal, Victoria checks through her handbag a final time and is able to find two Jell-O snack cups, one red and one blue.

“You used to like dessert first,” Victoria explains.

“Sounds good to me,” Steph agrees.

Victoria pulls the top off the red one first and presents it proudly to Steph.

“Your favorite,” Victoria says with a wink.

Steph nods and scoops up a bite with her plastic spoon. Almost immediately after placing it into her mouth, she reacts with a noted grimace.

“What’s the matter?” Victoria asks in concern.

“I dunno,” Steph says as she rolls the food around with her tongue, still looking ill at ease throughout. “It just tastes weird.” She eventually takes a tissue from the box on the nightstand and spits out her food.

“Really?” Victoria takes her own spoon and tries out a bite as well. As far as she can tell, it’s the same red Jell-O as has always been. “Well...” She tears the top off her blue cup and gives it over this time. “Try this.”

Steph does the same with the blue version, seems reasonably satisfied this time. “Much better,” she remarks.

Victoria gives a hesitant nod.

“Actually,” Steph continues, “I think I would like another pillow.”

“Oh, of course,” Victoria replies. “Be right back.”

Victoria steps out of the room, but before being off to track down that pillow, she takes a final look back at Steph through the window on the door. Steph continues to eat the blue Jell-O. Victoria feels surprisingly taken aback upon noticing this change in Steph. At face value, it seems to be a minor change. She just doesn’t like red Jell-O anymore. Yet Victoria is shaken. Because she’s got to wonder. What else doesn’t Steph like anymore?.

* * *

**Next year, January.**

Victoria steps out from the concourse of Philadelphia International Airport. The brisk winter chill is a far cry from consistently balmy Los Angeles. She hails a taxi and steps into the cabin. It isn’t too long of a trip, so she takes the majority of the ride in silence.

When she feels herself growing bored of glancing over the cityscape, she cues up a familiar track on her phone.

_“There’s a highway,_

_But it ain’t gonna get you there...”_

She shuts her eyes, letting the music and the lilting motion of the car sway her into a peaceful daze.

Upon drawing closer to her destination, she reaches into her Tory Burch shoulder bag and reflexively finds the single item she’s searching for. It’s a simple letter, written on unassuming eggshell white stationery, the creases of the trifold still lovingly preserved. Upon the precipice of this new chapter in her life, Victoria feels she needs the encouragement of the words within.

> **Victoria,**
> 
> **I wish you weren't reading this letter now.**
> 
> **I wish you could be reading the other letter I wrote. The other letter, I was hoping to give to you on our 20th or 30th anniversary. It was going to be something we'd enjoy a nice, long laugh over. We could be a couple of ancient crones having a giggle over how young and foolish we had been.**

> **But instead you're reading this letter. This letter means that when I left the operating table, I was no longer the same girl you fell in love with. Or I was no longer the same girl who fell in love with you. Maybe a bit of both.**
> 
> **And so I'm writing this letter to you now, with what could be my final moments of clarity before everything changes. I want to capture these final moments when I still know how much I feel for you, how much you've changed my life.**

_“And the man’s been wondering lately”_

> **Please know that I could turn out to be a different person by the time I'm out of the hospital, but make no mistake, the version of me who loves you deeply, who sincerely wishes you had been in my life all along and who wishes you could be here for the rest of whatever time I've got left, that is the real me. That is who I most want to be.**

_“How to make this freedom last,”_

> **I want to be the person who falls asleep with you after watching movies all night, the person who sings and dances with you on top of the diner counter, the person who kisses you in the library. I consider that person to be the real me. You and you alone will always have that person. So you and you alone will always have me. The real me.**

_“So give her all the love you have”_

> **Take that memory of me, along with everything you've felt for me, and live your life with that feeling. Take that feeling and give it back to the world. Give to the world all the color and joy and warmth you've given me in our all-too-brief time together. That is how I can always be with you.**

_“Till the world comes crawling”_

> **Yours, now and always,**

_“Back.”_

> **Steph**

The taxi pulls up to the campus entrance. Victoria is greeted by that faded cobblestone sign, the one which reads “Bryn Mawr College.”


End file.
